Side Work
by Sir Talen
Summary: Bob has some uncomfortable questions for E.


" _Robert_ darling, so good to you again,' E greeted waving the heavyset super into her living room. The massive Art Deco statue _Prometheus Ascendant_ towered over them both as the tiny metahuman fashion designer sat him in a chair.

"What brings you here today?" she demanded, continuing before he could get a word in. "Another patch job? I have upgrades for you and family's suits that I absolutely _must_ get to, but I've been busy, busy, _busy_ with all of the new orders I've been receiving, now that the Metahuman Control Act has been rescinded. It's so _wonderful_ to be able to practice my Art again, instead of catering to skinny, vapid 'fashionistas' tramping up and down the runways in Milan like herds of starving elk."

"No, no, it's not a patch job. The suits you made for all of us are still holding up fine," Bob said, running his hand through his thinning blond hair.

"Modifications then? If you're going up into space it will take me a day to add standard life support gear, but anything else I do in a couple of hours," E reassured him.

"No, we're not going into outer space," Bob said quickly. "I've got some questions for you, about the whole mess with Syndrome."

E waved a hand dismissively. " _Bah_ , that is in past, darling. I never look back. At least the fool showed the world why supers were still _needed_ though."

"Yeah, that he didt," Bob admitted. "I think that's part of the problem."

"What are you going on about then?" E asked, one eyebrow rising above her thick glasses.

Bob set his hands on his knees, taking in a deep breath. "Look, E. Everyone in the super community is grateful to you. The suits you've made for us kept me and a lot of my friends alive, when things got pretty hairy. We're never going to forget that."

" _Soooo_?" E asked, drawing the word out, looking at him in curiosity.

"So," he said, "Everybody knew, supers and the government knew rather, that you sometimes did, er, 'side work' for metahumans that weren't registered with the National Supers Agency. Rogue elements. On one side… or the other. And that was okay, because y'know, if you happened to let slip to someone on the phone that General Mayhem just got enhanced fireproofing for his suit, and said he was going to Wyoming, maybe we'd better keep an eye on the Yellowstone supervolcano. That sort of thing was helpful. No harm, no foul. Right?"

E raised her nose regally. "I can't possibly discuss other clients with you, Robert. You know that."

"Of course not," he agreed. "But, when the Metahuman Control Act kicked in, you were as affected as badly as any of us with powers. Not only were the supers gone, so was the focus of your, um, passion."

"I will not deny that I was unhappy, true," she allowed.

"Right," Bob agreed. "So, along comes Syndrome, the first real supervillain the world has seen for fifteen years. He's got a huge brain, a bigger ego, and an island base full of minions and fancy hardware. Except who is going to oppose him? The government thinks he's got a legit weapons research and manufacturing corporation. Only a superhero can take him out, but there aren't any now. Worse, he's _hunting_ them." He took in another breath. " _But_ , if his threat was finally recognized, if the supers had to return to oppose him. Well then, you'd be back in business, and needed more than ever."

E folded her arms across her chest, looking at him in polite disbelief. "Robert, are you _seriously_ suggesting that I might have supported Syndrome? That preening idiot was _murdering_ my customer base!"

"I'm not saying you knew what his plans were. But when a kid like him contacts you, obviously smart enough to find out you were in the business, ego the size of the Empire State building, wanting a suit all in black, you could have seen pretty easily that he was a budding supervillain. And if there was a supervillain, there would have to be superheroes to stop whatever his scheme was. A situation like that, it might be tempting to just give him what he wants, instead of reporting him to the National Supers Agency." Robert shrugged. "Just to see what would happen. Especially if you slipped something into his suit that might help things along."

"I find your speculations quite paranoid, Robert," E said haughtily.

"Maybe they are," Bob admitted. "Still… Syndrome's suit had a _nice_ cape, didn't it?"


End file.
